scott bruzenak

December 20, 2008

this is the official start of the personality cult of me. beyond this point back in time, i was a collection of random vectors. going forward, i am an idea about me, replaced constantly by an ever-increasing sense of me-ness which will be cultivated like a garden of stone. the workmen come at night and leave no trace-comrades dissapear like those of stalin in revisionist portraits, and we get an ever shinier and more resolute person standing, facing the internet and the physical world.

mindshare in this courageous world will be granted by consensus. the market bears mushroom clouds of words; they rain black radiation of glowing praise and tins of pressed meat that will remain floating in the ocean of our commons for centuries. or, at least until the infrastructure grows hollow and is exploded for a deer-run along wilshire. today’s civilization is tomorrow’s landscape. today’s problems are tomorrow’s mythologies. what were these people? what was scott bruzenak? was he a collection of generated words? an origami of demographics folded with the paper of dna? who controlled his statistics? where are his bones?

in the time before my idea, there was only a common collection of people. after me, the world was sorted and mulched for a seedplan, the rows orderly and placated into a golden torus. we became more than a sum of qualities.

the simple truth is a complicated lie.

so, weekly, we meet hidden, underground, to commune with a beam focused in the middle of downtown LA, we are left there with our bottles of plastic water and electrical conduits. we love to hold our faith in limbo waiting for the word.